


I Could Kill You With My Love

by thelittlestpurplecat



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Also lesbians, Attempted Sexual Assault, Bucky is in love with Steve, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Pining Bucky Barnes, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, basically no one in this story is straight, but can't bring himself to tell him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:40:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2751479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelittlestpurplecat/pseuds/thelittlestpurplecat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I could kill you with my love, or keep it to myself, and let it kill me.<br/>-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-</p>
<p>Of course Steve would accept him no matter what…but what if he didn’t feel the same way? Worse, what if he did? If Bucky’s feelings were unrequited they would still be okay. Steve wouldn't leave him although things may be awkward for a while. </p>
<p>But  if he told him and Steve returned his feelings…then…then all hell would break loose. They wouldn’t never really be safe again. They would be in danger every time they set foot outside their little bubble of safety. He couldn’t subject Steve to that, no matter how much he wanted him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Have you told him?"

The air had grown chilly with the falling of darkness, the wind biting at Bucky’s chapped cheeks. It was getting dark earlier now, and though it was only seven o’clock it was already nearly pitch black. With winter coming soon, the days were getting much shorter. It was bitter, and dark, but Bucky didn’t care. He was on his way home with his meager earners from the day of work jingling in his pocket. It wasn’t much, but in the middle of the Great Depression no one had much, and he and Steve _always_ scraped by.

_Steve_. The mere thought of his name brought a swell of warmth into Bucky’s chest. Steve could survive anything. Since the day he was born the doctors had been predicting when he would die. Sarah Rogers had been told he’d never live to his first birthday. At six year old it was said he’d died by the time he was nine, at fourteen, it was age eighteen. Now at nineteen years old, Steve’s expiration date was set for six years from now at most, but Bucky knew they were wrong. Steve wouldn’t die; he was too stubborn. If the god of death himself came to him in the night, Steve would probably bare his knuckles and sass him like the scrappy little punk he was.

The image brought of flood of warmth into Bucky’s chilly body, and he felt his heart rate growing more rapid. He and Steve had been best friends since they were little kids, and Bucky couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been in love with him, and tonight, he was finally going to tell him. Sometimes he got a physical ache in his chest thinking that it had taken him twenty years to pull his head out of his ass and accept the fact that he was in love with Steve.

They could have been together for year already; he could have had years of holding Steve in his arms like he’d always dreamt. He could have been taking him to the movies, kissing him, calling him sappy little pet names that he’d hate for _years_. Just that morning, he’d watched Steve scramble around their little shared apartment gathering things for his classes and it had struck Bucky like a physical blow how stupidly in love with his best friend he was. Steve occupied _all_ his thoughts; he ached for his company constantly, he craved his affection, needing it like food, or water. He lived to embrace Steve when he came home in the evenings; he lived for the nights spent sitting close other on the couch, Steve’s warm hand just barely touching his. He loved Steve; he adored him actually. It seemed foolish that after all these years he hadn’t told him. And then Bucky remembered why. Because he was terrified.

Steve was so… _good_. There was just no way around it, Steve was too good and Bucky was sure as hell he didn’t deserve him. He deserved a nice dame, a pretty one, like the ones in his sketchbook; a smart one, like the teachers at his art school that he admired so much. He deserved a dame who he could settle down with, have a family with. Bucky wasn’t like that. He couldn’t give Steve that, although, for a decent apartment and enough food on the table, he certainly tried. Still, if Steve didn’t love him in return he’d have at least tried, and then he’d know…he’d know for sure.

Bucky drew in a lungful of the biting air, his lips buzzing as he tried to role play the situation in his mind. Steve would be sitting at the kitchen table when he came in. He’d be drawing, his shoulder hunched over his work, hands dirty with charcoal. He’d stand hurriedly, grinning and hugging him before tossing some offhanded jab about being late. They’d laugh, they’d tease, and then-

"Steve I’ve got something I need to tell you." Bucky breathed earnestly, his arms wrapped around himself as he walked towards their side of town. Even say in the words just to himself he was nervous. Steve would look at him, patient, a teasing smirk still lingering on his lips. Bucky swallowed hard. "I- needed to tell you that- that- I…love you…" Bucky murmured his words going weak and dying off at the end. _God_ , Steve was so sarcastic and snarky he’d probably count with some kind of knuckled headed _‘we’ll yeah stupid I knew that,’_ and miss the point _entirely_. Because Bucky didn’t just love Steve, he was _in_ love with him, and Steve had to know.

He began the rehearsal again, trying a few different phrasings, his cold finger trapped under his armpits. Every time he tried something knew, he could hear Steve’s response in his head. He’d known Steve his whole life, he knew how he’d react to each and every word he’d say, and the results were never quite satisfactory. Bucky had just turned around a blind corner when he heard the all too familiar sound of knuckles on skin, and a slender figure was hurled out of the ally, crashing painfully to the side walk. Bucky heart dropped and broke into a run. He had no idea how, but his get instinct was that Steve had gotten into a fight again, even though he _should_ have been home by now.

He skidded over, dropping to his knees beside the groaning figure and sliding an arm beneath their neck, lifting them into a slumped sitting position. Not Steve, thank god, although he _really_ wouldn’t have been surprised. It was a girl, a plain looking girl with unfixed blond hair, and blood darkening her upper lip. She suddenly lurched in his arms, giving a ragged cough that splattered blood everywhere and bolting upright. Her eye’s snapped open, suddenly wide with terror and desperation.

"Hey-" Bucky cautioned shortly, steadying the girl, his hands gripping gently at her shoulders. The girl’s head snapped around, her eye’s briefly liting on Bucky’s concerned face. She stared for a fraction of a second before wrenching against him, abruptly throwing her weight forward struggling towards the ally that she’d just been hurled out of.

"Let me go!" she snarled, her voice raw, and ragged with desperation, and an animalistic fear and anger. She thrashed and squirmed against him as Bucky’s hold tightened. She was hurt. Someone who was in that ally had inflicted that on her, and he wasn’t about to let her throw herself back in. Which brought another disturbing question to mind. Who were they, and why weren’t they here now?

"Hey, hey! Relax!" He demanded, "wait just a sec I’m gonna help you-"

"Let me go!" She screamed savagely, her voice breaking with desperation, her nails splintering against the asphalt as she clawed towards the ally. "Get her! Help her," she pleaded, and Bucky felt a cold knot form in his stomach. That was why the attacker wasn’t here. There was another girl in there.

"Stay here," he breathed, with no real illusion that she would listen. Still, it was worth a try. He disentangled himself from the battered girl’s body and lunged down the alleyway. He blinked rapidly, his eyes adjusting quickly to the dark. With his focus in the right place, he could hear what he’d missed before; a second girl, hissing threats weakly, and a man’s low, gravelly voice. As Bucky careened down the alleyway, his worn shoes skidding treacherously on the slick cobblestones as the man came into view.

He was middle aged, and muscularly built, with a rough beard and a dirty button up that was half undone. He held a slender young woman pinned roughly against the dumpster, his hand yanking at a fistful of her dark natural hair. “C’mon Sweetie,” he purred, nipping at her chin. “You’re too pretty to be a dyke. Just tell me you want it and I’ll be nice.”

The girl bared her teeth, tears running down her cheeks. She looked savage, like a wild dog that had been cornered. The man abruptly moved forward, crushing his mouth against hers, twisting her hair viciously. Her body bucked in response, her back arching, twisting, and writhing beneath her attackers invasive touch.

Suddenly, the man howled in pain, jerking his bloody lip from between her teeth. He hauled back, striking her with the back of his hand. The girl yelped, the blowing dropping her heavily to the ground. In a moment, he’d leaned down, hauling her up by the straps of her dress and smashing her against the dumpster. The man’s jaw locked, his lip curling back in disgust, showing his crowded yellow teeth. He spat; his thick, milky saliva hitting her cheek with a wet _splat_. “Disgusting waste of pussy.” He snarled, his grip tightening on the material of her dress, the seams straining, and tearing. The man smirked nastily, leaning in close, his breath hot on the girl’s face. “Let’s see if I can change your mind. _Dyke_.” He spat, one hand creeping around behind her, groping her unashamedly. The girl gave a strangled little cry, struggling against him, the man’s frustration mounting.

He hauled back to hit her when suddenly his wrist was lanced with white hot pain as Bucky grabbed it, snapping it neatly. Steve was great with sarcastic quips and one-liners when he got into fights, but not Bucky. For Bucky, it was about efficiency, about neutralizing the situation before Steve, or anyone else could get hurt worse. Now, Bucky yanked him back by his broken wrist, wrenching him around and landing a solid blow to his nose, feeling the bones crunch beneath his knuckles.

The man reeled back, shocked by the sudden offense as Bucky hit him again, keeping hold of the broken wrist. Pain flared down his arm, rage seething in the pit of his stomach.

Bucky had noted that the man was muscular, but he’d never expected him to retaliate with such force. This wasn’t a playground scrabble with a bully, this was a grown man who’d been intent on beating and raping a young woman who couldn’t have been much older than Steve. And now he was furious. His head snapped back from the blow to his nose as he suddenly lunged forward, slamming Bucky bodily into the brick wall. He crushed against him, his knee coming up into the young man’s gut.

The air left Bucky in a gasp, the edges of his vision momentarily tingeing gray. His body lurched, his stunned lungs trying to remember how to function when suddenly he felt a horrible pressure on his throat. The man’s good hand curled into his neck, blocking off the airways to his already empty lungs. He hadn’t even had time to draw a breath after having the wind knocked out of him, and that’s exactly what the girl’s attacker wanted. The sooner this wannabe hero was unconscious or dead the better.

The gray that had fuzzed at the edge of his vision was spreading now, huge blotches blurring his sight. He squirmed, twisting as his fingers pried weakly at his adversary’s hand. His head felt overly warm, his lungs feeling like they might burst. He was slipping away and all he could think was at least he’d bought the girl a few minutes, and the two of them could get away. His next, and what he thought may be his last thought was of Steve. Because _god_ , he hoped the kid didn’t have to find him dead in some gutter. It’d break his heart; he- he couldn’t see any more…his thoughts felt distant, even to him…

And suddenly, the pressure was gone. A huge gasp of air drug into Bucky’s aching lungs and he stumbled weakly, holding himself up against the wall. He blinked, his chest heaving as the blobs of gray mercifully faded. Bucky turned his face up, seeing the first girl standing over the attacker’s unconscious body. Her hands were grasped in a white knuckled grip over the end of a wickedly splintered shaft of wood. Bucky had nearly tripped over that same piece on his way in, and she’d successfully weaponized it. For a second, their gazes met in a stunned look of mutual admiration before the shaft of wood slipped from her hands and she wheeled around, bolting across the ally to where the other girl crouched against the dumpster.

"Ev?" She breathed without of trace of her earlier savagery. "Evelyn. Hey," The blond whispered, tipping up the other girl’s bruised face. "Evie look at me."

The other girl blinked, slowly seeming to come back to reality as her eyes locked on her companions face. The show of strength and brutality from before crumbled and the two girls let their defended drop, embracing where they crouched.

"Lori-" the darker haired girl managed, suddenly shaking, badly. He entire body trembled as she tugged at the torn front of her dress. "I-I-" she stammered, and Lori shushed her, stroking softly over the bruise, and leaning in. She pressed her mouth softly to Evelyn’s, kissing her tenderly as she stroked her hair. Evelyn broke the kiss, tasting the bitter, metallic tang of blood on her lips "Y-your mouth." She stammered.

"Fine." Lori assured her. "Just a split lip." She paused for a moment, he gaze stealing back behind her, and suddenly unease curled in the pit of her stomach.

Bucky stood against the wall, silent as he caught his breath, watching the girls carefully. He didn’t think either of them were too badly injured, but he could be wrong, particularly with the darker girl, Evelyn. She’d take quite a shot to the back when that guys had thrown her against the dumpster. He watched, moving forward uncertainly as the first girl helped the second to her feet, her expression clouding with suspicion, and suddenly Bucky knew why. He’d seen them kiss; they were used to treatment like tonight for less than that.

Bucky offered a shaky smile, wanting to reassure them that he wasn’t a threat. “Thanks for that,” he breathed, dropping his eyes to the man’s still unconscious figure.

Lori’s suspicions tentatively ebbed. “Thanks for getting to her…” She murmured, an arm around Evelyn’s waist, supporting her as they stepped over their attacker’s limp body.

Bucky smirked sarcastically. “Pleasure,” he replied, before his tone grew more concerned and earnest. “Lemme walk you gals home.” He offered. It was gonna be late, and Steve was gonna be worried, but these two were hurt, and he didn’t want anyone else bothering them along the way.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It was with tentative gratitude that Lori agreed to his help. She seemed like the kind of person who was warm, genuine, and affectionate, but Bucky understood that right now she was scared. She was angry and defensive and she’d burn the world if that’s what it took to keep Evelyn safe. Bucky knew the feeling all to well. He’d had to pull Steve out of some pretty bad scraps before. Most of the time, he could dust him off and they could move on, but sometimes Steve got himself seriously hurt. At times like that Bucky knew what it was like to be willing to take on everyone in the world to keep the person you loved safe.

As it turned out, the little apartment that the two girls shared was only about eight blocks from where he and Steve lived. Bucky thanked his lucky stars for that. He’d be home late enough without having to walk clear back across Brooklyn.

Twenty minutes later he found himself sitting on a threadbare couch, a cup of weak tea in his hands, watching as Evelyn fussed over the nasty split in her girlfriend’s lips. Like Lori, the further they got from the incident, the more he true color’s showed through. She was compassionate, and motherly, insisting on making Bucky a cup of tea to help him warm up a bit since he’d taken the trouble to walk them all the way home. Of course, that was only after she’d seen to her girlfriend’s injuries. Her brown fingers brushed softly over Lori’s paler skin, gently wiping away traces of blood and grimacing over bruises. As they’d made their way back to the apartment, Lori had asked Evelyn repeatedly if she was all right, her stomach in knots at the thought of her love being injured. Evelyn assured her she was fine, although an ugly bruise was beginning to discolor the smooth dark skin of her cheek. She was probably in more pain then she let on, but to comfort Lori she’d soothed her worries. Now it was her turn to fuss.

"Does this happen a lot?" Bucky asked suddenly, studying the girls with concern. The two froze where they sat, Lori still in her dirty torn clothes, her plain hair streak with blood and grime. Evelyn sat beside her in a clean set of pajamas, having discarded the torn dress. Evelyn paused a moment, her full lips pressed into a line before meeting Bucky’s gaze.

"Yeah," she responded simply, her finger stroking affectionately over Lori’s thigh. "This was actually…not…the worst…" She watched Bucky’s expression twist into a grimace. "Lori’s parents threw her out. Mine wouldn’t let me leave. They didn’t want me seeing her…thought they could beat it out of me." A bitter smile tugged at her lips and she turned, absently adjusting Lori’s shirt color, which was flecked with blood from her mouth and nose. "If we slip up, and someone sees us, chances are we’re gonna end up as bloody pulp on the sidewalk before we get home…" She murmured distantly, his eyes unfocused, her expression soft. She almost seemed sorry; sorry that people were so hateful that the tried to crush out what they didn’t understand. She looked gentle, and compassionate.

Lori wasn’t sorry, she was fucking _furious_. While Evelyn’s reaction to the prejudice they face was quite, and gentle, Lori’s was churning with rage. She hated the people who hurt them; she hated the people who threatened the girl she loved. What Evelyn had told Bucky was tame, it was charitable. They’d been hurt a lot worse then what she’d shared. 

Bucky suddenly looked a little sick, his stomach twisting uncomfortably as the color seeped from his face. “It’s that bad?” He asked hoarsely, and Lori glanced up at him, her lips smarting from the wide, ugly split.

"Worse." She murmured simply, her expression clouded. 

Bucky thoughts tumbled around in his head, jarring against each other until nothing made sense. Just earlier, only an hour ago, he’d been working himself up to telling Steve he was in love with him. He’d been blind. He’d been an idiot. Bucky knew that anyone who wasn’t straight faced a lot of prejudice in this day and age but he hadn’t thought…he’d never imagined…That guy had been trying to rape Evelyn in a attempt to ‘turn her straight,’ He’d beaten Lori to get at her. They’d been hurt by family, by friend, and strangers. He didn’t want that. Or, he would take it, but he didn’t want that for _Steve_.

Bucky slowly rose to her feet, twisting at the edge of his shirt. He felt a bit sick, his plan crumbing from under him, his mind loosing all track of the conversation. He needed to leave. Bucky inhaled deeply, forcing himself to think rationally. Steve would already be worried, even if his tardiness had been worth it. They’d needed the help. Steve would understand. “Listen,” He started uncertainly, looking down at Lori and Evelyn. “I-I have to go. If you need help, or anything…I live about eight block from here, Gardner Street, Apartment 203. Just…come okay? Anything you need, I’ll do what I can to help you.” He stammered.

The couple stared at him for a moment, seeming to try and dissect his sudden odd behavior. And then Lori stood, striding over and pulling him into a carefully guarded hug. She’s been sharp tonight, her fear had made her cold, and little cruel, but she genuinely appreciated Bucky’s help. Without it, she wasn’t so sure that they would have been okay. “Thank you.” She said simply, pulling back and offering him a little smile.

Bucky returned it, letting his arms slip from around her shoulders. “No problem. Oh, and hey-” He said suddenly, touching her elbow to stop her. “If you _do_ decide to show up, don’t be surprised if it’s not me answering the door. I live with my best friend Steve.” Bucky explained, his chest warming slightly. “He’s uh…a little guy, ‘bout five foot. Nothing to’im. Really nice, soft blond hair, bright blue eyes, _prettiest_ fella you’ll ever meet. I mean, I know that’s not what you’re into but I mean, he’s- I-I’ll tell ya he’s- I’m in love Steve.” He blurted suddenly, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

From where she sat on the couch, Evelyn’s head snapped up, taking in the pained look on Bucky’s face. A little smile tugged at her lips. Lori had raised her eyebrows, a look of surprise written pleasantly across her expression. Bucky felt his cheeks warming under their stare, but it felt good to finally say it out loud. He’d never told anyone before, it had always seemed too risky, but these girls were safe, they understood.

"Have you told him?" Evelyn asked, her voice gentle, but curiously prompting. Bucky swallowed.

"…No…" He admitted. "I mean…the little punks been my best mate since were where little, and I swear to god I’ve loved him my whole life but…" He set back to twisting the hem of his shirt again, the material creasing under his sweaty palms. "But… _no_ …I haven’t told him." 

A sympathetic smile graced Lori’s mouth as she stepped back over to the couch, easing down with a wince beside Evelyn. She was still sore from the earlier incident. “You should tell him,” She said, still grimacing a bit as she sunk her batter body down. “He might be thinkin’ the same thing about you.”

A nervous little laugh escaped Bucky’s lips, sounding embarrassingly weak. “Steve? No…He’s uh…he _way_ to good for me…” 

The girl’s looked up with the kind of synchronization that only comes from living with someone and loving them for a very long time. They stared at him pointedly, and Bucky felt his face beginning to warm again. A smirk cracked Lori’s expression and she tipped her head to the side. “Bucky, you were just going on about the guy like he was the center of your universe to two, basically, strangers. Something tells me that if we knew each other better, Steve’s all you’d talk about. If you love the guy _that_ much you should tell him. Trust me I know. Ev’s way too good for me but we’ve been together for six years.” 

Evelyn whapped her across the knee. “Shut up, I am not.” 

"Point is,” Lori continued, giving Evelyn a little affectionate smile. “If you love him as much as it seems, he’d be lucky to have you."

Bucky glanced down for a moment, scuffing his shoes softly across the carpet. “Thanks,” He said with a soft laugh, “But I should- I should go. He’s gonna be waiting for me. Remember what I said though, about coming around if you need anything.” He reminded, drifting back towards the door.

Though Lori and Evelyn had assured him it would be alright, and encouraged Bucky to tell him, but now he knew he never could. Their words spun in his head, images of their injuries and the treatment they receive clouding his mind. He could see the ugly the bruise forming on Evelyn’s cheeks, the aggressive man threatening, and hurting her, and suddenly he knew he could never subject Steve to that. He’d done the best he could for Steve his entire life, and now that was coded into his DNA. Bucky had backed Steve up when he’d fought guys far to strong for him. He’d made sure he had food, warm socks in the winter, and medicine when he could afford it. He never did anything that would result in harm coming to Steve, and now he saw that love him could only hurt him. People would mock, and ridicule him. He could be beaten, taken advantage of, even killed, and Bucky would rather love Steve for the rest of his life, silent, and unreciprocated, then to make him a target for the people who would hurt him.


	2. Don't Let Me Love You

His arrival home didn’t go exactly as planned.

When he opened the door, Steve wasn’t hunched over his sketchpad like he usually was, relaxing, and winding after a day of classes. He was standing at the counter, peeling potatoes for their meager dinner and Bucky could tell just by his posture that he was worried. His brow was creased into lines of concern, and his pale, bloodless lips were pressed into a thin line. There were little cuts and raw marks all over his boney hands from distracted mistakes that where made while fretting over his absent friend.

Bucky eased the door closed, the soft click seeming to ring in his ears. Sometimes, he was grateful for Steve’s hearing impairment. He took a moment to hover by the door, inhaling deeply; preparing himself for the storm of worry he was about to endure. Bucky licked his lips before cautiously clearing his throat. “Steve?” He called softly, feeling a bit like the teenaged son that stayed out past curfew.

Steve startled at the unexpected sound, his heart jumping to his throat as he wheeled around, the knife clattering to the floor. For a moment, his gaunt face went slack with relief, before suddenly clouding, frustration written over every contour of his expression. “Bucky!” He demanded, hurrying over as he wiped the milky starch off on his shirt. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been goin’ crazy waiting for you! What happened?” Steve pulled up short in front of him, his eyes darting up and down the length of his body, scrutinizing him for any damage. Bucky was glad that his throat hadn’t started bruising yet. When Steve was satisfied that Bucky wasn’t injured, he stepped back a pace, squaring his narrow shoulders and crossing his spindly arms across his chest. He set his teeth, the muscles in his jaw twitching with annoyance. He’d been worried; Bucky was well over an hour late, when he was usually very punctual. Steve wanted to know why.

At the sight of Steve’s stance and expression, a lopsided smile pulled at the corner of Bucky’s mouth. He should be smiling he knew, but Steve’s little angry face was too cute to ignore. Although if he didn’t get on with his explanation he just might start scolding him. “Well,” he started, sniffing casually as he wiped at his nose. “I pulled a ‘ _Steve Rogers’_ ”

Steve blinked rapidly, confusion winning out over the frustration on his face. “What?” He asked, giving a quick little shake of his head, like he wasn’t certain he’d heard Bucky correctly.

Bucky ran his tongue over his parted lips, the corners of his red mouth turned up in a smirk. He reached his scraped knuckles up as he rubbed the warm palm of his hand across the back of his neck. His throat ached, and he knew it was going to start discoloring pretty soon, so it was better to tell Steve than let him figure it out on his own. He’d get an earful for sure if he waited until morning when Steve would inevitably spot the bruises. “I was walkin’ home, and all the sudden I see someone getting chucked out of an ally way, so naturally, I thought ‘that dumbass Steve got himself into _another_ fight today. That’s the _second_ one!’ So I was on my way to pull your scrappy little ass out’a there, when I saw it was a dame. Two actually, one of em still in the ally with a big guy with no respect for women. He was hitting her, and…gettin’ mouthy and grabby…So…I did what you’d do…I clocked him one…and you know, took a little damage myself but then again…you do _that_ too…”

As Bucky summarized his story, he saw Steve’s face flush at the injustice, his eyes darkening at the thought of someone daring to treat anyone, particularly a woman in such a manner. “And after that?” Steve pressed, looking like he’d be fully willing to go back out and finish the job himself if the guy had gotten off easy.

Bucky shrugged, wanting to make as little of a deal of his own damage as possible. “Well, he nearly shut my lights off with a choke hold until Lori, uh, the first gal I mentioned, cracked him over the skull with a big ol’ splintery stick. It was heavy too Steve, I swear, it was like half a tree.” Bucky laughed, admiring Lori’s strength weather she had been driven by adrenalin or not. His description of the weapon and of Lori’s heroics had the desired affect. In the midst of the story, Bucky’s minor injury had slipped Steve’s mind, although he was certain he’d still hear about it later. For right now, Steve’s expression had pulled into a smile. He got a vicious thrill from poetic justice.

"Bet that asshole thought he didn’t have to worry about her ‘cause she’s a dame, serves him right, the bigoted bastard."

A grin spilt Bucky’s features, his heart fluttering in his chest. He never got tired of hearing Steve call people out. He was so smart, and the kid had a freaking mouth on him that amused him to no end. So innocent, so unassuming, such a dirty mouth. Bucky wanted to kiss it.

He blinked suddenly, squashing the thought out. No. He couldn’t let himself think that anymore…it would only put Steve at risk, and with a death date hanging over his head 24/7 the last think he needed was more risk. If he was gonna love Steve, he had to do it quietly, in his own mind. He could never tell him. He could never fool himself into thinking he and Steve could be together.

At Bucky’s easy grin, Steve felt the coils of worry that had knotted tightly inside of him begin to unwind. His attitude relaxed and a smile graced his soft pink lips. Certain now that Bucky was alright, and he’d been off doing some good while he was out, Steve swept out his last trace of annoyance and concern. Steve moved forward suddenly, wrapping his arms around his best friend, and pressing his face into the side of his neck, feeling Bucky’s chilly skin against his nose as he hugged him close.

Steve’s breath, warm on his skin, sent a crackled of electricity down his spine, or at least, it felt like electricity. Bucky knew it was all in his head, but he could feel the shock warming softly through his body, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Bucky moved slowly, wrapping his arms around Steve’s narrow, boney shoulder, feeling the notches of his spine under his forearm. He pulled him close, inhaling deeply, breathing in his scent. He smelled like home. As the two best friends stood by the door way, embracing warmly and allowing the tension of the day to slip away, Steve allowed his thumb to brushed softly over the base of Bucky’s neck, indulging in the little touch.

Another chill ran up Bucky’s spine, as Steve’s thumb rubbed absently at the back of his neck, his mind going fuzzy with the intoxicating warmth of the contact. He had no idea what he was doing to him did he? The way he brushed his thumb across his skin probably meant nothing to Steve, but Bucky was melting under the soft touch, his defenses crumbling as he sunk closer. Suddenly, Bucky tensed, suddenly afraid of forgetting himself. He pried himself off Steve abruptly, pushing back and dropping his gaze away under the pretense of fixing the front of his shirt.

Steve blinked as Bucky pushed himself off of him, and he felt a little twinge of uncertainty in the pit of his stomach. Bucky usually sunk into their hugs for as long as he could, spreading his warmth through Steve’s skinny, often cold body. He would rub his back, affectionately squeezing his boney shoulder and nuzzling into his neck. They could spend hours cuddling on the couch in the evening after Bucky got back from work, and Steve returned from class. They would sit shoulder to shoulder after dinner while they read, or curled close together in their narrow bed. Bucky never pulled back. Just now, it was like he’d wanted to get away. Steve swallowed, releasing the hug and drawing away with an uncertain smile. 

"Well, If you’re not hurt mister _hero man_ , I’d like you’re help with dinner." He commented casually, trying not to read into Bucky’s action too much. He bent down, scooping the paring knife up of the ground and strolling over to the sink to rinse it off. 

Bucky managed a little smile, his eyes following Steve longingly as the other boy walked to the opposite side of the kitchen. “Sure punk,” He said in his best teasing tone, but he was glad Steve had his back turned, because the look on his face was one of pure adoration. 

He walked over to the counter, chopping the potatoes into cubes while Steve finished peeling them. Once he was finished, the blond haired boy set to thinning out a little bit of their precious chicken stock with water in a small pot, throwing in a few peas, and the chopped up pieces of their last two scraggly carrots. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. As the financial depression grew worse, their dinners got slimmer. But the would scrape by, they always did.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Steve and Bucky prepared their meager soup, boiling the potatoes in with the peas and carrots in the chicken broth and serving it as a soup. Bucky told Steve to go sit down, that he would serve up. Once the slender young man was seated at the table, Bucky dished two bowls of the soup, filling Steve’s with as much of the carrots and peas and potatoes as he could, hoping he wouldn’t notice that Bucky’s bowl was mostly broth. But it was better to get caught then to let Steve be hungry. 

Fortunately, over their meal, Bucky managed to keep his friend distracted with the details of the story he’d summarized for him earlier. He answered Steve’s prying questions, and let him fuss and worry over the forming bruises when he began to notice them. He told him a little bit about going to Lori and Evelyn’s house, mentioning that he had invited them to show up if they needed anything, and if two pretty gals turned up on the doorstep that he was to let them in. Steve nodded to this before beginning to rib him about the girls, teasing about weather or not he’d be asking either of them out. At this, Bucky hadn’t been able to suppress a snort of laughter, and, with a little more prying from Steve, divulged that the girls where together, effectively shutting down any cause of ribbing. 

He hadn’t been certain about telling Steve that little detail, because a part of him was a little afraid to see Steve’s reaction. God knows, he wasn’t worried that he was going to be an ass about it; that went against every fiber in Steve’s being. Bucky was afraid that his casual acceptance of the girls’ sexuality might encourage him. Steve accepted them, he would accept him too…but what if Steve didn’t feel the same way? Worse, what if he did? Steve returning his love would be infinitely worse than his rejecting it. If Bucky’s feelings were unrequited, if Steve knew he couldn’t love Bucky as more than a friend, things would be okay. They would keep being friends, although Bucky dreaded the awkward phase that would fall between confession his feeling for him, and finding a comfortable middle ground again.

But if he told him, even expecting to be rejected and Steve returned his feelings…then…then all hell would break loose. He and Steve would loose everyone. Friends, family, all gone. They would be rejected together, any meager social reputation destroyed. They wouldn’t never really be safe again. Like Lori and Evelyn they would be in danger of being beaten, raped and killed every time they set foot outside their little bubble of safety. He couldn’t subject Steve to that, no matter how much he wanted him. 

Bucky wanted to love Steve with every fiber of his being. He wanted to kiss him every morning when he woke up, he wanted to dote on him and splurge on little extra gifts that Steve would fret that they didn’t have to money for, but kiss him gratefully anyways. He wanted to take care of him He wanted to be able to tell Steve things he’d never dared to before, like how beautiful he was, rather than teasing that he was a ‘sharp looking fella’ which was all he’d allowed himself. He wanted to tell him that he was gorgeous, and perfect, that Bucky wouldn’t change a thing about him. He wanted to tell him he loved him. God he wanted to so badly, which made lying in bed next to Steve at night so much harder.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Steve was already lying in bed when Bucky came in for the night, his mouth tasting fresh and minty from brushing his teeth, traces of the white paste still caught in the corner’s of his mouth. Bucky wiped his hand across his lips, his eyes falling uncertainty to Steve’s lithe figure, stretched out on the mattress. He was lying on his side, one arm tucked under the crook of his neck, supporting his heavy head as he tried to get in one more chapter of his book before bed. Steve had his legs cross at the ankles, his left arm lowered to rest softly against the crinkled pages. Steve’s fingertip traced along the line as he read, helping him keep his place, even when he weak eyes lost track. The skinny young man gave a huge yawn, his eyelids lowering sleepily. His dark, impossibly long lashes brushed delicately over his cheekbones, feathering the pale skin in a way that made Bucky’s mouth go dry with desire. He was gorgeous, lounging there, half asleep, and all Bucky wanted to do was curl in around him and kiss his neck and cheeks until he drifted off.

The dark haired young man swallowed hard, steadying himself as he wandered to the edge of the bed, dropping down casually rather than sinking gently in against him like he so wanted to do. 

At the movement, Steve head gave a little jerk, pulling itself up off of his chest as he blinked himself awake. A soft little hum escaped his lips, his eyes already drooping heavily. “Ready?” He murmured, sliding his book aside. The blond haired boy slid a hand up under his soft pajama shirt, scratching at his stomach sleepy. Bucky’s eyes followed the movement, wetting his lips nervously as he caught sight of the pale sliver of Steve’s concaves stomach, his porcelain white skin in sharp contrast with his dark pants. Steve shifted a little, absently tugging his shirt back into place and reaching out, his hand finding its way to the little lamp on their end table as Bucky settled in.

He sunk down next to Steve, feeling himself pressing close, something he simultaneously desired and wanted nothing to do with. The one, narrow bed was all they could afford, so even edge to edge, Bucky was still pressing against Steve’s chilly body. It was hard to avoid.

"Yeah," He breathed, his gaze dropping guiltily away from his lips.

Steve, a little too tired to notice, clicked the light off, darkness enveloping the room. A little smile touched his mouth as he shifted closer in the darkness, expecting Bucky to lift him arm and then drape it over his shoulder as he curled in against him, but the welcoming gesture didn’t come. Steve hesitated uncertainly. He wasn’t sure he could even remember the last time they hadn’t slept like that. He always fitted right under Bucky’s arm. He always felt so safe, and warm. Steve wasn’t certain he _could_ sleep any other way, and, not for the first time that night, Steve wondered if he’d done something wrong.

Bucky lay in the pitch-black room, his chest in a knot as he shifted, rolling so that his back was to Steve. He missed the feeling of his warmth against his chest, his steady, even breathing lulling him to sleep. He wanted that, that and more. He wanted to wrap Steve in as tight, and as close, and as safe as he could, and pepper him with kisses, he wanted to fall asleep with Steve’s lips still touching his. And Bucky was scared that if he held Steve like he always had, that there would be nothing to stop him from trying.  

 


End file.
